Loved and Hated
by Kiwi Anime
Summary: [COMPLETE] Raphael Giry, a backstage hand for the Opera Populaire Nouveau, discovers the mystery of the Phantom of the Opera and his life takes a nasty turn... Some Language, Violence
1. Opera Populaire Nouveau

**Disclaimer:** I, Kiwi Anime, do not own any part of the Phantom of the Opera. Neither do I own the opera _Griselda_, which is a real opera entirely in Italian composed by Giovanni Battista Bononcini. The English lyrics for the song "Per la Gloria d'adorarvi" (Italian for "For the Love My Heart Doth Prize") were written by Dr. Theodore Baker, and the song can be found in "Twenty-Four Italian Songs and Arias of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries."

**Note from Author: **I have based this fan fiction off of the movie more than the musical, and have not read the book. I WILL find the book someday, but for some reason, I cannot find a copy of it anywhere nearby. Once I do, I will probably have to re-do this.

Chapter I: Opera Populaire Nouveau

**Raphael was an innocent** lad who didn't understand true hatred. Hate was a fairy tale to him, a fantasy that he would never have to be subject to. Even though he was sixteen years old, he never worried about such things. All he ever worried about was rehearsals.

Raphael was a backstage worker for the Opera Populaire Nouveau located in the new Paris Opera House, located not too far away from the old opera house. Sometimes, Raphael wished he was one of those on stage, singing for the audiences and being applauded for. That was what Raphael wanted: applause. The feeling would be so thrilling, so enthralling…but it didn't matter much to Raphael that for the moment he was a lowly backstage hand.

Of course, much more mattered to Chouet. Chouet wanted to be Prima Donna, the star of the show, the show-stopper...everything. She may be only a simple chorus girl, but she certainly thought she was amazing. Raphael didn't really understand why she was so eager to be the center of attention. He thought that just being in the opera went to her head. Even being the silent role got to her head.

At the moment, the Opera Populaire Nouveau was undergoing rehearsals for the opera, _Griselda_, which would be opening in two nights. Raphael was controlling the backdrop, making sure something odd didn't happen, such as the landscape falling on top of the actors. His hands steadied the rope as he watched Chouet on stage, performing a complicated ballet with the chorus. Raphael smiled as he watched his best friend dancing on stage. Her long blonde hair was wavy and tied back in a bun, and her pale skin was flawless and smooth. Her blue eyes were deep and shining, and almost had a slight tint of violet in them. She was so graceful, and quite beautiful, too. Raphael blinked, realizing what he was thinking, and gave himself a smack in the forehead. In the process he temporarily let go of the rope, and suddenly, the backdrop jerked violently as it began to fall. Raphael's eyes went wide as he grabbed the rope quickly, pulling it back up. He then secured a lock, deciding not to trust his hands anymore.

The manager, Monsieur Giovanni, whispered from behind him. "Raphael, what in heavens name are you doing!"

Raphael blushed as red as a beet. He muttered something about not paying attention, making Giovanni very annoyed. "Raphael, if that happens tonight, you can consider yourself unemployed."

Raphael flinched, not enjoying the prospect of unemployment. He had worked very hard to earn this meager job of being a backstage hand, and he would never have a chance at being on stage if he lost this low status in the Opera hierarchy.

Giovanni walked away in a huff after giving one last annoyed glare at Raphael. Raphael sighed and continued watching Chouet dance. The ballerinas suddenly struck a pose and the lights dimmed as multiple men dashed on stage, removing set pieces and putting on other. Raphael's hands brought up the field landscape, pulling on the ropes, as another man on the other side of the stage brought down another backdrop of a beautiful forest. Chouet rushed off stage, rushing by Raphael in the dim light. She didn't notice him at first, but spotted him and waved to him, sitting down in a chair as her makeup was touched up. Raphael smiled, then turned back to look at the performance.

Just before the lights went up, a mirror rushed past Raphael, the carriers of the prop running a little behind. Raphael caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and saw his face droop. He didn't look fit to ever be on stage. He had pale skin, even in the dim light, and his blonde hair was jagged and poorly trimmed. His eyes were a dull blue, not bright and lifelike, and his nose seemed (to him) abnormally large (which it wasn't). But the worst thing was a light scar on his left cheek. Even when he applied makeup, it was still there, ugly and disfigured. It really wasn't that bad, but it still looked horrible to him, and he despised it.

The lights finally turned up, and the men and woman on stage began to sing their songs, performing with beauty and grace, with power and feeling, with emotion and…beauty…

"He had a face carved by the devil himself!" One of the other backstage hands of about eighteen was talking in front of a group of the performers that evening after the performance as girls shrieked at his sudden movements. "And he was a madman! RARGH!" He suddenly leapt at one of the chorus girls, who shrieked with joy. The boy's eyes darted to the left and right, then leapt at another girl. "ARGH!" The girl shrieked as well, and the boy, satisfied with the result, leapt at Chouet. "GRARGH!"

Chouet, however, did not have the same reaction as the previous girls. "Oh, really!" She folded her arms, an annoyed look on her face.

The boy smirked at her, determined to spook Chouet. His hair was short and blonde, perfectly combed and handsome. His eyes were a soft baby blue, and his skin was flawless without any blemishes or scars. "You don't believe in the Opera Ghost? Well, he exists, all right! My father told me all about it! Thirty years ago…" He changed his tone to an eerie ghost-like moan. "…The Opera Ghost…attacked!" He threw his hands up in the air, emphasizing the event.

Chouet looked away from him, looking at Raphael, who sat next to her. "You don't really believe him, do you?"

Raphael blushed, startled. "Err, uh…" He turned away, flustered.

The boy now looked between Chouet and Raphael. "Oh, it really happened." He was still smirking.

Raphael sighed. "Really, now, Jacques. This is not a very good scary story."

Jacques smirked still. "It isn't a story, Raphael! It's the whole reason they re-built this new opera house! It was back in the days of the Opera Populaire…" He sat down, a serious look on his face. "Thirty years ago, if my father told me correctly, there was a great disaster…"

…_there was a great disaster that shook my very bones, Jacques. I had attended the Opera Populaire that evening to observe a new opera, Don Juan Triumphant. What an odd opera it was. I found out later that it was written by the madman himself! Imagine it! Those two fools, Monsieurs Andre and Firmin! What were they thinking? I still don't know to this day why they performed that opera. But the truth of the tragedy is they did._

_Your mother and I had attended the opera that evening to celebrate our marriage. Of course, technically, she is not your mother, but I always look at her as your mother. She was quite pretty that evening, but, of course, I always thought she was beautiful. That's why I married her._

_Well, once the opera started…well! It was such an awful opera! The notes hurt my ears, I had to get up and go outside. I wasn't aware of the rule that if you left the theatre in the middle of an opera, you weren't allowed back in. I thought that was a silly rule then, but as I look back on that incident today, had it not been for that rule, I would be dead._

_After about an hour or so, I suddenly heard screaming. I tried to get back in through the double doors, but the ushers wouldn't let me in. The next thing I knew, there was a great crash, as if a thousand wine glasses had been dropped from the great ceiling of the opera house, and the house was up in flames. I tried to get to your mother, I really did…but a great crowd came rushing through those doors that kept me away from getting in. So, I ran. I learned later that your mother had been crushed by a chandelier crash…caused by that madman. He's real, Jacques, no matter what everyone says. They try to cover up that great disaster, but it happened. There is…_

"…a phantom of the opera!" Jacques' face was now smirking, looking at Chouet with a pleased look on his face.

Chouet was now clinging to Raphael's sleeve, her face pale. "You mean…that crash was caused…by the phantom of the opera?"

Jacques nodded, his face suddenly solemn. "You must always be careful, Mademoiselle Chouet, or the phantom will catch you!" His face lit up in a demonic way, and Chouet leapt, giving a slight yelp, squeezing Raphael's arm more.

Raphael couldn't feel his arm anymore. He lightly made Chouet let go of his arm, then stood up. "Jacques, this is not a story for ladies." Jacques was now laughing, pleased that he had even spooked Chouet, ignoring Raphael, which angered him more. "I do not find it funny!" There were now girls laughing as well, and soon more and more people were laughing. "STOP LAUGHING!" There was silence when Raphael yelled. He breathed deeply that spoke softly, with power. "We should not joke about such things. There is no more phantom in this opera house. He is gone." There was a much longer silence, and then Raphael, grabbing Chouet's hand, marched out of the room. "Come on, Chouet. We don't need to be around these childish people." He slammed the door behind him, and then began to take Chouet towards the stairs up to her room.

"They should not joke about such things." Raphael was furious. "Yes, Chouet, there was a phantom of the opera. He was a madman, as they say. He was a murderer, and was a true threat to innocent lives. We should not joke…" He suddenly began to run out of breath, now at the top of the staircase, and turned left. "…we should not joke…about such things…" He slowed down, stopping at a door. He breathed deeply for a while, standing at the door. He then held up one hand to the door. "Good evening, Anna Chouet."

Chouet looked at Raphael with a confused look on her face. "Why do you feel so strongly about this phantom?"

Raphael was still breathing deeply, and let his arm drop to his side. "I…my family…we are connected with him in…many ways. He…is a very vicious man, and should not be taken lightly. No…he _was_ a vicious man." He held his forehead in one hand. "There is no more Phantom of the Opera. He is no longer here."

Chouet watched Raphael for a moment, and then walked in front of him, opening the door. She stood in the open doorway for a short moment, and then turned to look at Raphael, lightly curtsying. "Good evening, Monsieur Giry."

Raphael bowed his head, and then looked up at Chouet as she closed the door. He sighed softly, walking away, back down the stairs. He should go for a walk outside to clear his head of all these thoughts before he retired as well.

Next Chapter: The Lair

Raphael looked back at his jagged and deformed reflection in the broken glass, the mask hiding his scar perfectly. He seemed a different man now. It hid the single thing he hated most…and the mask fit him like a glove…


	2. The Lair

Chapter II: The Lair

**The plaza was empty** at this late hour of the night, but Raphael didn't care. He just needed to walk and clear his head of these thoughts.

The Phantom…he had been told by his mother that he was a horrible man that killed and such. His mother, Meg Giry, had even known a girl who had been 'attacked' by the Phantom, as his mother had put it, and it was only because of the opera's patron that she was able to escape. He hadn't seen his mother for ages. It had been over eight years since she had left him and his father. His father was abusive, and it was thanks to his daily beatings he had the scar on his left cheek. His father had eventually left him on the streets six years ago, right before Raphael had been planning to run away. Raphael had been lucky to find the opera house, and he began his life as a backstage worker, a life that was so far away from his dream of the stage…

Raphael hadn't been watching where his feet carried him, and suddenly found himself in front of an old and majestic building. The old Paris Opera House. The doors were boarded shut, and there was a sign in French that read 'Keep out; Condemned Site.' Raphael thought for a moment. He had a couple of hours before he was expected to retire…no, he shouldn't go barging into an abandoned building. He sighed, hating it when his curiosity got the better of him, and walked up to the doors, and with little struggle, pried the boards off and opened the doors.

He walked into the opera house, looking around the majestic lobby with wide eyes. The ceiling was painted and there were velvet seats as if it was a parlor. He walked across the lobby, opening the double doors into the theatre.

If he had been stunned when he saw the parlor, it was nothing compared to the beauty of the theatre itself. Rows upon rows of velvet seats filled the house, and a light cobweb clung to the arms of the chairs with invisible arms. The ceiling in here was painted as well, although it was much more beautiful. He saw at the ceiling there was a stub of metal that he assumed once was a pulley that held the amazing chandelier. As he got closer to the stage, he could see where the impact had hit the seats, even though the destroyed seats had been removed along with the destroyed chandelier. He walked easily up onto the stage via a ramp, and then turned around, looking out onto the whole house. So this is what it felt like to be in center stage.

He turned away from the house, preparing to walk back off of the ramp back to the new opera house, but he spotted something odd: a trapdoor in the stage. He thought at first that it was just part of the set, but decided to examine just in case. He opened the door of the trapdoor with a bit or wrestling with the rusty handle, to find a stone passage way. He looked around to make sure nobody else was watching (which was very foolish, since he was in an abandoned building) and jumped into the passageway.

His feet quickly hit the bottom. In front of him was a dark passageway with unlit torches along the way. He used two stones from he ground to create some sparks that lit one of the torches and began to walk. He noticed vaguely that the passageway was slowly sloping downwards, meaning that he was soon to be underground, if he wasn't already.

He walked down for what seemed like an eternity, finally seeing up again that the passageway opened up into something else. Was it a room? There were odd shadows in the room…they seemed to move, almost like…water…

He reached the end of the passageway, and found himself in what seemed like an underground channel. The water was disgusting and seemed to be stagnant for many years. Raphael was standing on what seemed like a boarding dock, and just on the edge of the water floated an old boat. He looked around, and saw even more cobwebs down here than in the opera house itself. Where in the world was he…?

His curiosity still thirsting to be quenched, Raphael nimbly boarded the boat. He looked around on the inside and found a long rod. He then began rowing himself down the canal, looking around as the water cast an odd transforming light on the cave walls. He found a torch holder attached to the prow of the boat and set his torch in it, continuing down the canal.

He felt as if there was an odd presence here, as if a ghost still lingered in these tunnels. Of course, Raphael didn't believe in ghosts, but the whole effect of the tunnel was still quite eerie and, if he did say so himself, spooky. Where would this take him? Why was this in the catacombs underneath the opera house? And who would use this boat? Who would visit this place?

The tunnel emptied into a small underground lake. Raphael looked around, completely stunned. He had entered some sort of underground cave. Yet this was no untouched cave. It seemed many years ago somebody had definitely been here. There were extinguished candles all around, and there were mirrors, too. But this place hadn't been touched for many years; that much was plain. A thick layer of dust covered the entire cavern, and cobwebs filled every corner.

Raphael rowed the boat to the edge of the lake and got out, wading through a few inches of water to get to land. He began to walk around, looking at everything with wide eyes. The candles had been all but burnt out, and, quite oddly, every last one of the mirrors had been broken, hardly any glass remaining in their frames. And so many candles everywhere…it would be amazing if they were all lit…

It was amazing. And he hadn't even lit all of them yet. Using the torch, he lit one of the candles, then proceeded to light every last wick. He had almost finished, and now the whole cave glowed with an eerie glow.

In the process of lighting these candles, he had been able to find many odd things. The first was a miniature model of the theatre. It looked just as bad, if not worse, than the real thing. It seemed somebody had set fire to this as well, judging by the candle that lay next to it, which was exceptionally odd to Raphael. Had whoever been here planned the whole catastrophe in this very cave?

He also discovered another odd thing. He found a model of a human head on the same table that held the model. But this was no ordinary model of a head. The head was wearing an odd mask that only covered the left side of its face. Raphael observed the mask for a short while, and then continued to light the candles, forgetting the mask for the moment.

He neared the last candle and raised his own to light it, before something on the table the unlit candle rested on caught his eye. It was a book. He set down his own candle, picking up the book. He recognized it immediately as the score for an opera, simply by the size of the paper. Oddly, this book was almost in perfect condition, except for a layer of dust. He tried to read the front cover, but was unsuccessful. He blew off a bit of the dust, which was just enough to read three words: 'Don Juan Triumphant'. He dusted off the rest of the cover with his sleeve, but found no author's name. Was it Anonymous? Suddenly, he remembered when Jacques had told him about the accident…the opera they had performed was this very opera he held in his hands…and it had been written by…

Raphael nearly dropped the fragile book in shock. He was in the very place where the Phantom of the Opera had been! Was this his very lair? Was this odd cave really the home of a madman and a murderer? Raphael was breathing deeply. Suddenly, he looked across the room at the mask, sitting on the manikin head's face. _He had a face carved by the Devil himself_...

Raphael blinked, looking back down at the score for the infamous opera. If he was a madman, how had he written an entire opera? Raphael sat down in a chair and opened up the score, beginning to read.

His first impression was one word: interesting. These were not conventional cords, nor were they popular keys to use. They were definitely not major chords; no, not even minor chords. What kind of chords were they? Raphael could somehow hear the music as he read it. Somehow, he could hear the harmonies. They were very faint, but deep inside this odd opera, he could find a beauty. It was an odd sort of beautiful. Not beautiful like a summer day where the sun shines and gives heat and warmth to all who live. This was a sort of beauty that made the hair on the back of one's neck go taut, the sort of beautiful that created a shiver down their spine and made their stomach lurch. It was its own beautiful, a completely different species of beautiful. This was true beauty that only true geniuses could imagine.

Raphael looked up at the mask yet again. Maybe this Phantom of the Opera wasn't such a lunatic. He could see just from this opera that he certainly had genius. True genius that doesn't come along in everyday men. True genius that couldn't be handled by many men and would drive many to insanity.

Somehow, and hardly without his knowing, Raphael began to stand up, closing the opera score and setting it on the table. He walked over to the mask, removing it from the manikin head. A face with a defect on one side…Raphael cast his eyes past the mask at a pile of shattered glass on the ground. He walked over to the glass, looking at his own grimy and dusty reflection. Even through the filth, Raphael could still see the scar on his left cheekbone. He looked back down at the mask, and slowly put the mask on. He looked back at his jagged and deformed reflection in the broken glass, the mask hiding his scar perfectly. He seemed a different man now. It hid the single thing he hated most…and the mask fit him like a glove…

Suddenly, Raphael gave a startled yelp, wrenching the mask off of his face, staring at it with a horrified look on his face. Had he really been thinking that the Phantom was a _genius!_ Was he really considering taking on his own mask? What ghost inhibited this cave that compelled him to even consider trying on the mask? What was happening to him…?

Raphael suddenly rushed over to the score, picking it up. He then began going around to all of the candles, blowing all of them out one by one. He had to leave here at once. He was foolish to even come here. What had he been thinking? He continued to walk around, still blowing out the candles. He walked up to the last lit candle, but paused, looking back down at the opera score in his hands. He would take the book with him, and finish reading it. He would learn everything he could about this Phantom. He would learn the truth. He blew out the last candle, casting the entire cave into darkness, matching the dark thoughts in his head.

_Note from author_: OK, it isn't often I add notes, but I found that I had to mention one of my favorite musicals of all time: Wicked. Now, you wonder why I mention this musical. It is because it reminds me so much of Raphael's thoughts of Don Juan. If you listen to the first two minutes of the musical, you will know what I mean. I also apologize at my inability to describe the 'beauty' of Don Juan. It's impossible to explain. Again, that's again why I mentioned Wicked. The first few minutes of the musical are, in its own way, beautiful. OK, I'm going to shut up before my note is longer than the chapter, and nobody likes that.

Next Chapter: Rumors

When Raphael began disappearing for hours at a time in his room, rumors naturally began to arise. What was he doing in there? Why was he suddenly locked in his room all afternoon and all evening, if his schedule allowed?


	3. Rumors

Chapter III: Rumors

**The Opera Populaire Nouveau** was comprised of multiple people of many different ages. Many of them were seniors, having sung most of their lives. Others were young adults, around twenty and thirty years of age. Raphael and Chouet, among a few other girls and a few other boys, made up the few teenagers in the opera. Yet these few teenagers created quite a tight nit community that didn't accept oddities very quickly. Youth today are the same way. Difference is unacceptable.

So, when Raphael began disappearing for hours at a time in his room, rumors naturally began to arise. What was he doing in there? Why was he suddenly locked in his room all afternoon and all evening, if his schedule allowed?

Chouet was talking with two of the other chorus girls, Maria and Desiree, one afternoon after rehearsals were finished. It was one of those rare moments when everyone was able to wear their casual clothing. Chouet wore a white dress with a blue ribbon acting as a sash, a matching blue ribbon in her hair, and the other girls wore similar attire.

Maria was laughing. "Did you hear Monsieur L'Vitoun? His voice was cracking!"

Desiree smiled. "Indeed! I do hope that his voice improves for the ball this evening."

Chouet nodded. "Of course."

Desiree's eyes went wide. "Oh, but girls! Girls! What do you think Monsieur Giry is doing this very moment?"

Maria snorted. "He's up in his dormitory, no doubt."

Desiree's eyes were still wide. "But what do you think he's _doing_?"

Chouet seemed to become slightly uncomfortable. "Honestly, Desiree, I have no idea."

Maria looked suggestively at Chouet. "But you should know! After all…" She left the statement unfinished.

Chouet looked at Maria curiously, slightly confused. "After all…? Do finish your statement, Maria. I am eager to hear what in the world you are blathering on about."

Maria looked at Chouet with mock surprise. "Oh, Mademoiselle Chouet, surely you must know what I am reffering to…?"

Chouet was starting to become agitated. "Honestly, I have no earthly idea."

Desiree started to giggle. "Well…we all know where you were that night when Jacques told us that scary story…"

Chouet was still puzzled. "Monsieur Giry escorted me to my room immediately after we left, and I retired immediately."

Desiree and Maria both looked at Chouet oddly, then looked at each other, then looked back at Chouet. Maria spoke first. "Mademoiselle…we all thought…"

Chouet was still confused. "Thought…? What exactly did you think, Maria? Surely you didn't think…?" There was a silence during which Maria and Desiree simply looked at Chouet. Suddenly Chouet became quite red in the face. "Oh, my! Of course not! Raphael would never…I would never…you were all terribly mistaken. You shouldn't listen to such nasty rumors." Chouet then turned away from them all, marching away indignantly. She could hear them changing the subject as she walked away. "So, who is escorting you to the masquerade ball tonight, Maria?" "Oh, I'm going with Jon Paul! And you?"

Chouet sighed, proceeding up the stairs to her room. The ball, of course. They had even canceled the Sunday evening performance of _Griselda _just to hold this ball. She had refused all of the offers from other men to accompany her so far, simply because she had expected a certain somebody to invite her. So far, he hadn't asked her yet…maybe he wouldn't ask her after all…

"Chouet?"

Chouet jumped as she heard a voice behind her. She spun around, and immediately relaxed. Raphael was walking out the door of his room. He was holding a large book underneath his arm, but his arm conveniently covered the title. He was dressed in a dark brown suit with a black vest and a white shirt. His black shoes were polished and shining, and he looked very elegant. Chouet smiled at him. "Hello, Raphael. Where have you been all afternoon?"

Raphael fidgeted uncomfortably. He still hadn't told Chouet what he had done that night about a week ago, all the amazing things he had discovered…but she didn't need to know. "Err…nothing, really."

Chouet looked at the large book underneath his arm. "What is that?"

Raphael looked at the book as if he wasn't aware he had been carrying it. Obviously, he hadn't been aware, as he suddenly leapt back into his room and reappeared a few moments later, the book disappeared. He shut the door, breathing deeply. "Oh, nothing…" He laughed nervously. "Just…a book I was reading. Anyways…" He shook his head, recovering from his minor shock of almost revealing what he had been doing to Chouet. "…How are you?"

Chouet looked at him oddly for a moment, but dismissed the odd happening quickly. "…Fine, I suppose…"

Raphael looked at her with mock surprise. "Only fine?" He had his hands at his sides, and began to fidget with the hem of his coat. "Well…I might as well ask you something…" Chouet's heart leapt as Raphael continued with some difficulty. "…You know, I'm probably too late to ask you this…" ("You'd be surprised," Chouet thought to herself.) "…but…you know the ball tonight? Well…I was wondering…might I serve as your escort?"

Chouet smiled at him. "I accept your invitation, Monsieur Giry." She curtsied, utilizing every last manner her parents ever taught her.

Not too far away, at the bottom of the staircase, Maria and Desiree listened. Maria rolled her eyes, and then began imitating Chouet, making her voice much higher pitched than necessary. "'I accept your invitation, Monsieur Giry.' Of course she accepts."

Desiree nodded. "And of course she denied our assumption so quickly. It's because it really did happen, and she's embarrassed."

Maria laughed. "Of course she's embarrassed! I would be, too, if I was going to the masquerade ball with Raphael Giry!" The two of them laughed as they walked away, not unheard by Raphael.

Next Chapter: Masquerade Ball

Jacques continued to dance with Chouet. After a moment, he spoke again. "You shouldn't associate yourself with someone like him. It's bad for your career."

Chouet looked up at Jacques suddenly, her eyes having trailed to the ground. "Excuse me, Monsieur?"

Jacques simply watched her every move. "It's not very wise to be seen with people like…like _that phantom_…"


	4. Masquerade Ball

Chapter IV: Masquerade Ball

**Everybody was dressed in **the most elaborate clothing any of them had ever seen. This masquerade ball, held in honor of the rising success of the opera, was just as much of a success as the opera itself. Beauty simply radiated throughout the lobby of the opera house as supporters and performers of the Opera Populaire Nouveau danced to soft and elegant music. Every last person had a mask, each one elegantly designed to fit their outfit. The women wore dresses with massive skirts and lace trimming every hem, and the men dressed smartly in their nicest suits. It was the ball of dreams.

Of course, Raphael was still getting ready up in his dormitory. He was wearing a black jacket and pants with a white shirt and a black bow tie. His black dress shoes were shining from polish, and his hair was neatly combed and would look, for once, quite dashing, if it wasn't for the uneven ends. He was currently looking at himself at the mirror, currently wearing no mask. He turned around and looked at his bed, where two masks lay. One was a black mask with gold trim on the edges that would cover the upper half of his face yet, unfortunately wouldn't hide his scar. The other was the mask he had brought from the catacombs under the old opera house. He still felt slightly annoyed at himself that he had even considered wearing that mask for a second. He looked between the two masks and then picked up the Phantom's mask, putting it away in a drawer in his dresser. He then put on the black mask, looking at himself in the mirror. It was a simple yet effective influence to the whole outfit. For a moment he regretted not wearing the Phantom's mask simply because it covered his scar, but quickly dismissed that thought from his head. He walked out the door of his dormitory silently, locking the door behind him.

He walked down the hallway, down one story, and up to Chouet's door. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but wasn't very successful. His heart was beating in his chest quite roughly, and he swore that anybody within ten feet could hear it pounding. He finally, after a moment of standing in front of Chouet's front door, rose up his fist and knocked briskly on the door. After a few moments, the front door opened, and Raphael felt his heart stop.

She looked positively gorgeous that evening. She wore a completely white dress with gold trimming at the bottom of the skirt. Her shoes were just barely visible underneath the skirt, white slippers with gold bows on them. She had a gold bow tying back her long blonde hair, and she wore a beautiful gold necklace with a violet jewel in its pendant, emphasizing the purple hue in her eyes. Her mask was white with a few white jewels on the edge. She was simply radiant, and Raphael was struck dumb for words for a moment.

Luckily for the boy, Chouet spoke first. "…Good evening, Monsieur Giry. How…" She was obviously observing his attire, and was obviously impressed. "How…are you?"

Raphael spoke without really thinking. "Yes, you look beautiful tonight."

Chouet was shocked for a moment, but then smiled. "Shall…we go downstairs?"

"Yes, let's go." Raphael held out his hand to her, and she took it. The two walked down the stairs hand in hand.

They entered the lobby and looked around at the decorations. It was positively splendid looking. The two looked at each other for a while, amidst stares from a few of the other performers. The two walked down the grand marble stairs, smiling at those who were staring at them. Chouet spotted Maria and Desiree, and asked Raphael if she could be excused for a moment. He obliged, and she rushed off to talk to her friends.

Jacques was watching as Raphael Giry and Anna Chouet walked into the lobby. Of course they would be coming together. If the rumors were true, they had quite a fondness for each other already. In truth, Jacques had always had a slight crush on Chouet. She was the only girl that had ever resisted his charming looks and personality, and he thought of her as a sort of challenge, something like if he could get her then he could get anyone. He looked at Raphael for a moment as he walked off to the side of the crowds, his scar perfectly visible. Suddenly, an idea sparked in his brain. He smirked, enjoying his plan already.

The band struck up a waltz, and Raphael blinked. He walked over to Chouet, who was talking to Maria and Desiree earnestly. She stopped talking, turning to Raphael. He could feel his cheeks turning red. "Er…Would you care to dance, Mademoiselle?"

Chouet smiled. "I shall, Monsieur." And with that, Raphael presented his hand to her, and she set her hand in his, and the two walked out onto the dance floor and began a simple waltz.

Raphael and Chouet began to have a conversation, since simply staring at each others eyes was making them both quite flustered. "You know, I didn't always want to be a ballerina," Chouet said to Raphael.

"Really? What did you want to be, then?" Raphael was interested.

Chouet started to blush lightly. "I don't quite know. I just…wanted to marry a man that my father chose and…well…live my life normally." She was slightly flustered, but continued. "My parents made me come here. I came when I was five years old. Within a year, I had decided ballet was what I was born to do. Besides…I didn't want to…"

Raphael continued to look at her. "Didn't want to…whatever did you not want to do?"

Chouet shook her head. "Oh, nothing." She decided to change the subject slightly. "So, what was your life like before you came here? You've never really told me."

Raphael sighed. "It's quite a long story. Are you sure you want me to bore you with it?"

"Nothing you say could be boring, Raphael."

Raphael blushed. "Oh…well, then…you see, my mother, Meg Giry, performed in the Opera Populaire a long time ago. She met my father at some party, and discovered that she was to marry him, that it had been decided by my grandmother and grandfather that he was to be her husband. So, they wed. I was conceived not long after. But then, my father…well, he changed when I was born. My mother wanted to care for me instead of him. So, he started to beat her. She eventually left us. I was about ten."

Chouet was listening. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is she all right?"

Raphael shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't seen her since then. I've decided that one day, when I've earned enough money from this opera house I'll go and find her. Well, after my mother left, my father decided to beat me instead. That's how I got this horrible scar. I ran away just like my mother. Thank goodness he never found me. I was probably about twelve when I left him, and it only took me a day to get here."

Chouet watched him inquisitively. "Why did you choose to come here?"

It didn't take him long to respond. "Simple. I had always dreamed of being in the opera. And…well, I went to one of the performances once, with my mother. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful girl, dancing on the stage. I wanted to see her again…"

Chouet continued to watch him, not realizing who he was talking about. "Did you ever see her again?"

Raphael was blushing now. "Well…yes, I did."

They were both looking at each other now, their waltz starting to fall behind the beat. "Who…is she? Anybody I know?"

Raphael looked at her, deep into her beautiful dark violet eyes… "Chouet…Anna…" Chouet knew just because he had used her first name that whatever he was about to say would be important. "That girl…was –"

"Mind if I cut in?" A snide voice broke their peace. They both looked at the person who had spoken to find Jacques.

Raphael blinked. "Excuse me?"

Jacques seemed to be holding in a smirk. "May I dance with the lovely Mademoiselle?"

Raphael looked at Chouet, and she nodded meekly. He looked back at Jacques. "I suppose so…" Chouet and Raphael let go of each other's hands unwillingly, and Raphael walked away to the side as Jacques began to dance with Chouet.

Jacques was looking at Chouet. "You're quite a beautiful young lady. Did you know that?"

Chouet didn't seem to warm up to Jacques at all. "Thank you, Monsieur." She spoke curtly.

Jacques continued to dance with her. After a moment, he spoke again. "You shouldn't associate yourself with someone like him. It's bad for your career."

Chouet looked up at Jacques suddenly, her eyes having trailed to the ground. "Excuse me, Monsieur?"

Jacques simply watched her every move. "It's not very wise to be seen with people like…like _that phantom_…"

Chouet wrenched herself away from him suddenly, her eyes wide with shock. "I beg your pardon, Monsieur!" She marched away from him, her face red. Jacques watched her walk away. Unfortunately, that hadn't worked as he had hoped…ah, well. No matter. She would learn soon enough…

Chouet marched over to Raphael, her face red. Upon first glance, it seemed her face was flushed with anger, but Raphael could see immediately that she was crying. He took her hand, and began walking her out of the ballroom, talking to her as they hurried out.

"Chouet, what's the matter? What did he do to you?"

Chouet shook her head. "Oh, Raphael…he didn't do anything…"

"What did he say? If he said anything to harm you…"

Chouet was still shaking her head. Raphael shut the door, not caring that they were now in an empty broom closet. "He…oh, Raphael, I don't understand what he meant by saying it, but it was so cruel…"

Raphael let go of her hand. "That monster!" He then looked at her straight in the eye. "What did he say to you, Chouet?"

Chouet shook her head. "Oh, if I told you, it would anger you so…"

Raphael was persistent. "Did he call you a foul name? What did he say?"

Chouet shook her head still. "No…he called _you_…'that phantom'."

Raphael froze. There was complete silence. Chouet looked up, confused. "Raphael…what's the matter?"

Raphael was still silent. Then, he spoke, slowly. "Well…I'm just slightly surprised that he compared me to…him…"

"You aren't angry? I thought you told me he was a monster, a murderer…Raphael, I'm confused…"

Raphael thought for a moment. He couldn't hold it off any longer. He spoke with difficulty. "Chouet…that night…when Jacques told you about the Phantom…when I told you about the Phantom…"

Chouet was immediately interested. What had happened that night? It was possible that she was the first person to discover…

Raphael continued, no longer holding back. "I went to the old opera house. And I…I found where he lived. I was there, Chouet! There were candles everywhere, and there were broken mirrors. I found his mask, Chouet! It only covers half of the face: the left side. Remember the stories? He must have had some defect on the left side of his face, and the mask hid it. I even found the opera he wrote, the opera they performed that night of the disaster. And it's a work of art! It could have been written by a genius, Chouet…a genius…"

Chouet was slowly backing away from him. "…Genius?"

But she was unheard as Raphael continued. "And his mask! I don't know why, but I tried it on. And it fit me, Chouet…by some odd twist of fate, I found that mask, and it covers my scar! Chouet…"

Chouet couldn't take it anymore. "You…tried on…his mask…? Genius..? Raphael…I…" She suddenly opened up the door of the broom closet and rushed out, her composure straight.

Raphael blinked, and then began going after her. "Chouet…wait…wait!"

But she got away from him. She suddenly slipped into the crowds and, try as he did, Raphael couldn't find her. He spent the rest of the night standing to the side, and the next time he saw Chouet, she was dancing with Jacques, her eyes avoiding Raphael's.

Next Chapter: The Phantom

Chouet was crying freely now. "I can't believe you actually respect him! You told me he was a monster! Now…you think he's a genius! He was a murderer, Raphael! He was a man of death. And I cannot love a man who loves death." There was silence during which Raphael stared at her, stunned. She took a deep breath. "Please let go."


	5. The Phantom

Chapter V: The Phantom

**The next morning, Raphael** woke up early. He hadn't been able to sleep much the night before. It was Monday, which meant there was a day off until the performance that evening, so Raphael was probably the only one awake. He washed his face, and then looked at his reflection for a long time. His scar was always the thing he looked at the most. He had always thought, "If only I could just hide that scar from the world." Now, he had similar emotions, but it seemed to him that to put on the mask for good would be to jump over the edge of a forbidden cliff.

He still couldn't get over the previous night. Maybe it would have been best if he hadn't told her. It was such a crazy thing to tell anybody. She probably thought him some crazed lunatic now. Still, he had to try to patch up things with her. They had been friends far too long for something as little as this to get in the way. Of course, now that he thought of it, this wasn't exactly what you would call 'little'. That didn't make him feel much better. He sighed, then walked out the door of his bedroom, off to search for Chouet.

By an odd twist of fate, Chouet was walking by just as he went out. She jumped, and then, seeing who was coming out, began to hurry away. Raphael began going after her. "Chouet, wait! I need…I need…" She rushed down the stairs, and he rushed after her. "I need…" He finally reached her halfway down the staircase and grabbed her hand. "…We need to talk."

Chouet struggled. "No…please, let go…"

Raphael simply watched her. "No. I want to know what happened last night and why you were avoiding me."

Chouet struggled still. "Please…"

"_What happened?_"

Chouet stopped and sighed. She turned to look at him, and Raphael was stunned to see tears there. "I can't believe you…you…actually…"

Raphael was truly stunned. "What? What is it, Chouet?"

Chouet was crying freely now. "I can't believe you actually respect him! You told me he was a monster! Now…you think he's a genius! He was a murderer, Raphael! He was a man of death. And I cannot love a man who loves death." There was silence during which Raphael stared at her, stunned. She took a deep breath. "Please let go."

Raphael let go of her, and she rushed down the stairs and out of sight. His knees were suddenly weak, and he grabbed on to the handrail to prevent himself from falling down the staircase. He pulled himself back up, panting as if he was winded. She didn't love him…he loved her so dearly; he couldn't begin to use words to describe it. And she didn't love him…

Suddenly, Raphael heard voices. He froze, listening. One was that of Chouet, and the other was that of Monsieur Giovanni. He could hear Chouet say, "...and he went to where the Phantom lived, Monsieur. I'm sorry you had to hear that…"

"Oh, no need to apologize, Mademoiselle. If you ask me for my opinion, it's best if you don't see him anymore. You shouldn't associate yourself with him. If he really thinks that…_he_ was a genius…well, then…we must question his sanity…"

Chouet was obviously shocked by this. "Oh, no, Monsieur! Raphael…he's just confused…"

"Mademoiselle, you should just let him go. It is possible that he might be dangerous, now that he's learned the story of the Phantom. You should best stay away from him from now on."

Raphael heard a sigh. "I suppose you're right, Monsieur."

"Well, then, Mademoiselle Chouet, I shall see you this evening for the performance."

Raphael listened and continued to pant. She was leaving him…he loved her so dearly, and she thought him some sort of monster…

If she couldn't love him…he couldn't live…

His face had fallen to the ground, and a single tear fell to the wooden staircase. His heart had just been broken into a million pieces.

Then, very slowly, his head began to rise slowly. That manager…he was encouraging her! And Jacques…he even called him a phantom! They all thought that the Phantom was a madman. He was a genius! A genius! And now they thought he, Raphael Giry, was crazy, just for knowing the truth about this genius. Well, if they wanted a madman, they would get a madman! They would get everything they feared of, and more! They would get back all that they had scorned and laughed at! They would curse the day they ever laughed at him!

.--.--.

Raphael was down in the catacombs underneath the old opera house, positively fuming. He rummaged through the objects and found a cape. He put on the cape, tying the drawstring around his neck carefully. He then found a coil of rope. He examined it and found that it was already tied into a hangman's noose. He put the rope underneath his cloak, deciding it would be…useful that evening.

The last thing his eyes saw was the manikin head. Resting on it was the mask, almost beckoning out to him. He walked towards it slowly, reaching out a hand to it. He took it off of the head and looked at it in his hand for a moment. He finally put it on, looking down at his feet at the pile of shattered glass. There was his reflection, jagged and deformed, hidden by the mask. There was an odd glint in his eyes that seemed to drive his features with a force that had never been seen before. It was a force of anger.

_Note from Author_: Look! Another note! Mark your calendars! I just wanted to say that I love this chapter. There. I just love it. It's Raphael's transformation into the Phantom. You may wonder why I don't combine this chapter with the next one, since the next one is also quite short. Simple: this is a HUGE happening and deserves its own chapter. It's probably the most pivotal part of the plot. OK, here I go, rambling. I shall shut up now.

Next Chapter: Murder

Chouet walked down the hallway, suddenly feeling very cold. Why did she suddenly feel so cold? She reached the door of the manager's office and opened the door. She looked for a moment around the office, and then screamed.


	6. Murder

Chapter VI: Murder

**It was a full** house that evening for the premier of _Griselda_. All of the chorus girls were backstage getting ready for their performance. Three of the girls, Maria, Desiree, and Chouet, were sharing a mirror as they all got their makeup on. Maria and Desiree were talking about all the things that had happened the night before, shrewdly eliminating Raphael from their discussion. Chouet simply listened to them as if she was in a silent stupor while she applied the rest of her makeup. She hadn't told either of them what had happened that morning, but everybody suspected that something had happened simply because Raphael hadn't been seen since that morning by anybody.

Maria was laughing jauntily. "Yes, that Jon Paul was certainly boisterous, right, Desiree?"

Desiree smiled. "Yes, he was!" She decided to try to get Chouet to talk once again. "So, we saw you dancing with Jacques! How was it?"

All that earned Desiree was a cold glare from Chouet. There was silence during which Chouet returned to applying makeup, then Desiree spoke again, trying to keep a pleasant atmosphere. "Was it really that bad? Poor Chouet!" There was another glare from Chouet, and Desiree then cleverly thought up a way to escape from them. "I…think I just heard the director."

Indeed, the manager had just called into the dressing room, "Five minutes to curtain!" The girls began applying their powder more vigorously, and a few shot up, rushing to the wings. Desiree used this opportunity to apply one last puff powder to her face before rushing away. That left Maria alone with Chouet. Maria looked at Chouet warily only to find with shock that she was crying. She quickly grabbed the powder, comforting her friend as she went.

"Oh, Chouet, you know Desiree was only trying to cheer you up. You just don't need to worry about last night, whatever happened, anymore." She tried to get to Chouet's face with the powder puff, but she looked away. "Come now, Chouet, you're ruining your makeup. I need to fix it."

The tears finally stopped, and Chouet looked up at Maria. "That's the whole problem, Maria. I have to worry about last night. I think I said something I shouldn't have this morning…I only hope he doesn't take it the wrong way…" She then succumbed to Maria's attack of the powder puff.

.--.--.

Raphael was still down in the catacombs of the old opera house. He was observing himself in the shattered glass. He looked almost dashing now that he was covering his scar with the mask. He then remembered his…engagement that evening. He was going to give them a taste of their own medicine. They had killed him by taking away Chouet. Now, he would…return the favor…

.--.--.

The opera began. It was an elegant opera, filled with beautiful dancing and singing. The Opera Populaire Nouveau was now more popular than ever before, and at every possible moment the audience applauded the performers onstage. It was a complete success.

Finally, with a dramatic vibrato on the final low D from the Prima Donna, the first act ended. It was now intermission, and the audience entered the lobby to chatter and the like. The cast hurried offstage as the chorus girls began re-applying makeup and the leads began changing costumes.

Monsieur Giovanni left backstage, congratulating some of the performers as he went. He had to go to his office for a moment to grab something to show the Viscount, who was observing the opera that evening. He walked along the hallways and finally approached the closed door of his office.

He entered his office, leaving the door open. He then began rummaging through his desk drawers for a certain piece of paper.

Suddenly, the door of his office shut. Giovanni jumped, looking around. He hadn't bothered to turn on all of his lights, the lamp on his desk lighting enough of the room that didn't quite reach the corners. He thought he saw movements in the shadows of one of the corners. Maybe he was seeing things…"Hello? Who's there?"

Before he could react, he felt a rope tighten around his neck. He gagged, his hands groping at his throat. He couldn't breathe…the rope was choking him, but he could not pull it away…everything was going black, his heart was pounding in his ears…the last words he heard were that of a voice he could not connect with a name. "Tell the devil that the Phantom sent you when you get to hell." Then, everything was black…

.--.--.

The performance had already started again, and Monsieur Giovanni was nowhere to be seen. Everybody was wondering where in the world he had gone to, but nobody knew. Finally, after one of the scenes, Chouet's curiosity got the better of her. She had about ten minutes before she was on again, anyways. She whispered to Maria that she would be right back, then rushed off, remembering that the manager had gone to his office during intermission. Maybe he had lost track of time in there.

Chouet walked down the hallway, suddenly feeling very cold. Why did she suddenly feel so cold? She reached the door of the manager's office and opened the door. She looked for a moment around the office, and then screamed.

Monsieur Giovanni was hanging by his neck from the ceiling, dead.

Chouet was so stunned, she couldn't move. She simply stood in the doorway, staring at the limp figure of the manager. After a moment, Jacques and Desiree arrived. Jacques seemed for the first time ever concerned. "Chouet, what is it…" He then looked in the office, seeing the manager. Desiree looked too and promptly screamed. Jacques was stunned. "My god…"

Desiree collapsed, and Jacques caught her. Chouet was still standing, numbed with fear. Jacques was shouting to a group of men as they started running towards them. "Alert the cast that Monsieur Giovanni was just found dead in his office! Hanged! Stop the show! There is a murderer among us! We are all in danger!" Once the men had left, he turned to Desiree. "It can't be…the Phantom has returned…"

Chouet finally did the first thing she could think of. She turned and ran. Jacques watched, stunned, and yelled after her. "Chouet, wait! It's not safe! Come back!" But Chouet heard nothing else as she ran up the staircase to her room. She reached her doorway and opened it, shutting it promptly behind her. She panted for a moment, and then turned around, looking around the room.

Throughout the dormitories, Chouet's shrill scream was heard as she saw who was in her room.

Note from Author: ANOTHER NOTE! I'm getting a little note happy lately. I'm just saying…don't you like the cliffhanger? I know I do. And, guess what? I'm not telling you what was in her room in the little peek at the next chapter! HA, HA, HA! OK, I'm going to shut up before I start rambling like I did last time. Oh, yeah, and once again, I remind you that the song sung in this chapter is NOT my own. I just found it and thought it was…interesting and fit with the plot. Check at the beginning of Chapter One for all the info about _Griselda_ and the song "Per la gloria d'adorarvi."

Next Chapter: Genius or Insane?

In the shattered glass, Raphael could see somebody else standing behind him. He looked like Raphael in the way he dressed; only he seemed considerably older. But the thing they most closely shared in common was that they both wore the same mask. It couldn't just be a coincidence…


	7. Genius or Insane?

Chapter VII: Genius or Insane?

**Throughout the dormitories, Chouet's **shrill scream was heard as she saw who was in her room.

There was a man standing in her room. He wore a great black cape, and his left face was hidden by a mask that covered the left side of his face. Chouet stared at him. "Wh…wh…who are you!"

The man watched her, his eyes blank with surprise. Chouet stared, and then realized something that frightened her more than anything that night. "Raphael…"

Raphael didn't look away from Chouet and didn't say anything. Chouet then continued. "Raphael…why are you dressed like that? Why...?" She couldn't accept it. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible… "…Why did you kill Monsieur Giovanni!"

Raphael stared at her, still silent. Chouet backed away from him, but found to her horror that the door was shut as she backed into it. She now began screaming at him. "WHY DID YOU KILL HIM!"

After a moment of painful silence between the two of them, Raphael finally spoke, seemingly emotionless yet filled with sorrow and agony. "Chouet, I love you."

Chouet froze. Had she just heard correctly? "Why did you kill him, Raphael?"

Raphael responded quickly this time. "I just told you! I love you, Chouet! Why…why can't you love me?"

Chouet was so frightened her voice trembled as she spoke. "You killed him. You…I…he…" She couldn't decide what to say. She suddenly exploded. "YOU'VE BECOME A MONSTER!" She finally turned around, opening the door, and shutting it behind her as Raphael simply watched her, stunned.

Chouet could see some men coming up the stairs, one of them Jacques. Jacques seemed extremely concerned, almost frightened. "Chouet, we heard you scream! Are you…all right?"

Chouet spoke, her voice shaking. "He's in here, good messieurs."

She stepped aside as the three men barged into her room. There was a moment's silence, during which the men looked around the room. One of them, Pierre, spoke. "He's gone! Not a trace of him!"

Raphael was back down in the catacombs, pacing. Why couldn't he win her heart? He loved her so dearly…but he now thought him a monster. Was this really the right choice?

His boot broke something under his foot and he stopped walking, looking under his boot at what he had broken. It was a piece of the shattered glass. He looked at his deformed reflection once again, made grotesque by the many shards. He stared at himself, completely transfixed by nothing in particular.

Suddenly, he jumped away from the mirror, giving an exclamation of surprise. Surely he had been seeing things. He looked behind him, just to make sure that he hadn't been seeing things. Nobody was there. He slowly turned back to the shattered glass, looking at his reflection.

Then, it happened again, but this time he was expecting it. In the shattered glass, Raphael could see somebody else standing behind him. He looked like Raphael in the way he dressed; only he seemed considerably older. But the thing they most closely shared in common was that they both wore the same mask. It couldn't just be a coincidence…

"I'm seeing things," Raphael said out loud. He turned away from the mirror, walking away.

Suddenly, he heard another voice, low and mysterious. "Maybe. And maybe not."

Raphael froze, and slowly turned back to the mirror, looking at the man that seemed to be standing behind him. He stared for a moment, and then spoke again. "Are…are you…?"

The man simply nodded.

Raphael simply stared, vaguely noticing the odd similarities between them, as if it was destined that they would become the same person. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Raphael. "How…I thought you died…"

The Phantom of the Opera simply looked at Raphael, their reflections equally distorted and disfigured. "True geniuses can communicate, no matter what realms separate them. Even the realm of death."

Next Chapter: Hated

"I don't understand. What am I to do? I love Chouet…so dearly…"

The Phantom looked back at Raphael, his face serious. "I, too, know how it feels to truly love. To love so dearly you cannot live without them. Do you feel that if you were not to share every moment with this Chouet your heart would stop beating and you would die?"

Raphael nodded. "I would die. Die alone and unloved."


	8. Hated

Chapter VIII: Hated

**The Opera Populaire Nouveau** still went about its daily routine, still putting on performances nearly every night and rehearsing nearly every day. The disappearance was never acknowledged by the performers, and life continued on.

A new manager was hired with amazing speed. Monsieur Blanc was a little nervous at first at suddenly becoming the manager of such a successful opera, but filled the position well within time. He became assertive and well-organized, and made sure the opera did not fall behind because of the sudden murder of Monsieur Giovanni.

There was a simple funeral for the deceased manager a few days after his death. Most of the members of the opera attended. There was some shed of tears, but it was a funeral that seemed very dull. Chouet thought of it as 'gray'. Only those that had been close to the manager really expressed mourning. Since she had never been close to the manager, she did not cry. Instead, those that had simply known him all thought the same thing: would this new phantom strike again?

Chouet remembered at the funeral the night of the murder. A group of men had questioned her about the murderer immediately after he had disappeared. They asked how he looked and what he said to her and what his motives were. Chouet spoke nothing that revealed that Raphael was indeed this new ghost. When asked if she knew anything about the disappearance very subtly by Monsieur Blanc, she replied that she hadn't seen him since that night. Technically, she told herself, that was not a lie. She had not seen him since that night.

Performances of _Griselda_ continued. Critics raved on the professional execution of the lead by the Prima Donna and on the beauty of the ballet. Chouet even noticed in a review one evening that the critic mentioned the beauty of a ballet soloist in one of the ballet numbers. Chouet felt wonderful when she read that review. If only Raphael could have seen that review…

Raphael now lived in the catacombs of the opera house, secluding himself from the rest of the world. He didn't want anybody to see him, lest they identify this phantom as him.

He missed Chouet dearly. He wished to see her again, just to say something to her, even if it was only to say that he loved her like he said every evening to himself as he went to sleep.

Every so often, he would take a glance at the shattered glass on the floor, and he would see the Phantom, staring back at him. He would converse with him and his concerns.

"I don't understand. What am I to do? I love Chouet…so dearly…"

The Phantom looked back at Raphael, his face serious. "I, too, know how it feels to truly love. To love so dearly you cannot live without them. Do you feel that if you were not to share every moment with this Chouet your heart would stop beating and you would die?"

Raphael nodded. "I would die. Die alone and unloved."

"Would you do anything to have her as yours?"

Raphael nodded.

The Phantom watched him gravely. "Then this is what you shall do…"

Raphael listened eagerly to the imaginary Phantom his own insanity had created, obeying its every word. It was the only thing he had left.

Chouet was in her room, brushing her hair, contemplating over the events of that afternoon's rehearsal.

A new backstage hand had been hired to take the place of Raphael. Jean was young, and quite handsome in reality. It was obvious when he first saw Chouet that he was attracted by her beauty. Yet she was not attracted to him, exactly in the same way she was not attracted to the many men who were drawn to her. It still felt that part of her heart still belonged to him…but could a monster love?

She sighed, looking at herself in the mirror, at her forlorn face and her eyes that looked like they were ready to cry. She was somehow deeply entranced by the mirror, and she couldn't draw her eyes away from her reflection. She was even imagining that she could see Raphael just behind her, his face unmasked and his eyes gleaming, comforting her and promising to always protect her…he was reaching out to her, ready to rest his hand on her shoulder as a single tear crept down her face…

When she actually felt the hand on her shoulder, she gasped, jumping up and turning around. There was Raphael, only it wasn't the same man she had seen in the mirror. This man's eyes were dark and cold, and his face was hidden by the odd half-mask. His very air was not warming and comforting, but cold, turned sour by nearly a month alone in darkness with only his own imagination to accompany him.

Chouet was shaking, but she kept her voice down to a harsh whisper as she spoke. "Why are you here? How did you get in here? You…you must leave at once…"

Raphael shook his head. "I won't leave you, Chouet…I love you…without you, I am nothing…"

Chouet backed away from him. "No, Raphael…you are already nothing…please leave me alone or…or I'll scream!"

Raphael reached a hand out to her. "Please, Chouet…come with me…together, we will be happy…"

Chouet bit her lip, backing away still, she felt the back of her heel hit the door of her room, and knew she was cornered. Finally, using all of her strength, she screamed at the top of the lungs.

The result was immediate. Before Raphael could even react, a group of men stormed into her room. Chouet fell down as she was pushed aside, and watched as the men surrounded the cornered man. One of them shouted, "It's him! We've caught him!" Two of the men dashed up to him, grabbing his arms. He struggled, trying to hide his face, but to no avail. One last man came into the room, and Chouet could see that it was Jacques. He looked for one minute in silence as the two men restrained Raphael from running off. Jacques walked up to the Phantom slowly, looking at him straight in the eye. Raphael was still resisting, trying his hardest to get to Jacques, his intention of what he wanted to do to him clear.

Jacques stopped right in front of Raphael, looking at him. Finally he spoke. "Well, well, well. Little Raphael Giry. Thought you could get away with sneaking into a girl's room, didn't you? It's obvious what your intentions were! And the crimes you have committed!" He then spoke to the two men. "We shall take him to the police. No doubt he will be tried for the murder of Monsieur Giovanni." He then looked bitterly at Raphael, and the Phantom thought he could detect a spark of triumph in his eyes. "I'm sure the police will take good care of him until his execution." He then looked at Chouet with a smirk. "I thank you, mademoiselle, for allowing us to capture this criminal. I assure you he will never bother you again."

With that, the two men dragged the struggling Raphael away. Chouet watched him go, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She could hear the last words out of his mouth before he disappeared out of her room, his voice choking back tears as he spoke.

"Chouet…I love you…"

Next Chapter: Loved

Raphael was shaking again. "Chouet…I love you. Why can't you love me? Why…?"

Chouet took a deep breath. "Raphael…I do love you…"


	9. Loved

Chapter IX: Loved

**It was nearly a **week before Chouet could gain the courage to see Raphael again. He had been taken straight to the police, where they had immediately impounded him in the local penitentiary. He was kept in a top security cell, where there were always men standing guard.

Now, all anybody ever talked about at the Opera Populaire Nouveau was Raphael. How had such a quite, sincere and young boy turned into such a monster? Nobody would ever imagine that, of all people, the son of Meg Giry would grow up to become a murderer…

It was such an absurd idea, Chouet still woke up in the morning, convinced that everything had been a dream and that it could have never happened to Raphael. He would have never done that. Yet, every morning, she was reminded that it was real. This was a living nightmare that she could not wake from. It would never end.

Chouet didn't attend Raphael's trial. It had been a simple trial. When asked what his plea was, Raphael said that he was guilty. Chouet even heard that he had spoken with his head high, as if he was proud to have become a monster. This fact hurt Chouet most of all, almost as much as it hurt her when she learned that the sentence was death. She finally knew the night after the trial that if she didn't see Raphael now, she would never see him again.

She walked through the grimy prison as men in their cells watched her. A few of them recognized her; she could tell by the looks they gave her. She simply walked on, not wanting to get her attention distracted from the matter at hand. The guard led her down – she could tell they were going down, since there were no more windows – to the end of the corridor. They finally arrived at a door at the end of the hallway. The guard turned to her, slightly concerned. "Are you sure you want to see him? You do realize he's a serious killer and y-"

"I know perfectly well what he is. Let me in gentlemen."

Raphael looked up suddenly. He heard voices outside his door and identified one of them as Chouet. His heart leapt, overjoyed beyond explanation. He had hoped that she would come before…it happened. Yet he hated her having to see him like this. His hands were chained behind his back to a chain that was attached to the ground, and a solitary candle lit the entire cell. His clothes were soiled and disgusting from almost a week of no bathing, and he looked horrible. He still wore his mask, however; they hadn't taken that away from him.

The door opened slowly, and Raphael watched as the dancer's frame of Chouet walked into his cell. He was shaking now, both from severe hunger and from a combination of feelings. The door shut behind Chouet, and the girl looked at Raphael, her face fallen. She finally spoke.

"I…had to come and see you…"

Raphael stared at her. "I hoped you would come…if I died before getting to see you again, my soul would mourn for all eternity."

Chouet looked up, almost as if she had been hurt by his words. "I…"

Raphael was breathing deeply. "Chouet, you never let me tell you. I thought to Phantom was a monster, I really did. But then I learned the real story. They laughed at him. They scorned him and rejected him. Just like me, Chouet. I'm simply following the course of history…"

Chouet simply watched him, speechless.

Raphael was shaking again. "Chouet…I love you. Why can't you love me? Why…?"

Chouet took a deep breath. "Raphael…I do love you…"

Raphael's heart stopped. Had he just heard correctly? She loved him…that was all he had he had ever wanted…

But then Chouet continued. "…I do love you, Raphael. I love _you_. Not the Phantom." Suddenly, Chouet was too weak to continue. Raphael saw now that she was crying. She gasped for breath, and then turned around, opening the door and walking out, leaving Raphael alone in the dark dungeon to wallow in his own madness.

Raphael had spoken to the Phantom often during the week in the prison alone. He had no idea what time it was, but assumed it was near midnight, if not later. He was so confused. The Phantom had been telling him wrongly…

Suddenly, Raphael heard a voice behind him. "There is no Phantom, Raphael."

Raphael turned his head sharply, looking behind him. There, in the shadows, was a man. He wore a mask just like Raphael. Raphael had no doubt that this was the Phantom. But…

"What do you mean? You…you are the phantom!"

The man shook his head. "I am not the Phantom."

Raphael was confused. "But…"

The man interrupted him. "The Phantom is a killer, a lunatic. The Phantom is a creation of our imaginations, yours and mines. The Phantom is a state of confusion and anger and love. It is not a person. There is no Phantom, Raphael. The sooner you understand that, the better off you'll be."

Raphael stared blankly at him. "But then…who are you? Who…am I?"

The man simply watched him with eyes that had seen torture and sadness beyond belief. "I am Erik. You are Raphael. One is only the Phantom if they choose to be." The man then pulled something out of his cloak. A bottle. "Now, I think you ought to get to sleep. When you wake up in a few hours, you'll understand everything much clearer." Raphael blinked as the bottle softly dropped to the ground and broke, releasing a gas. Raphael did not resist the sleeping potion as his world suddenly began to grow blurry. He thought he saw the man disappear, but maybe he had just been seeing things…

Chouet woke the next morning feeling horrible. She had to go. She had to try one last time to convince Raphael that he must save himself from the monster he had become. She left the opera house briskly as a foggy sunrise came over the horizon, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

She walked even faster through the prison, knowing where to go. She was nearly running by the time she reached the end of the corridor. When she reached the door at the end of the doorway, she was surprised to see there were no guards. She panicked. Surely they hadn't already…she turned the handle of the door, not comforted that it was unlocked, and burst into the cell.

She saw a man huddled on the ground with his back to her. Her heart leapt. "Raphael!"

The man stood up, looking at her. Chouet blinked, as she saw that this was not Raphael, but one of the guards. Chouet found that her hands were shaking. "No…have they already…?"

The man shook his head. "Actually, Mademoiselle Chouet, I have some news for you. Monsieur Raphael has disappeared. We came this morning to fetch him, and found that he had disappeared. Somehow, he escaped."

Chouet was stunned. She didn't know if she was happy or scared about this fact. How had he escaped?

The man then spoke again, and Chouet realized he was holding something behind his back. "Mademoiselle, I could never believe you would understand any more than I do about what happened, but perhaps…well, you see…" He pulled the object out from behind his back. "This was all that we could find."

Chouet took the object from him and looked at it, and somehow she understood everything. She suddenly collapsed to her knees, overcome with emotion.

The man panicked. "Mademoiselle! Are you all right?"

Chouet nodded, and it was obvious that she was overjoyed. "Raphael…Oh, Raphael…" She looked back down at the object in her hands, running her fingers over its surface, and smiled. The Phantom in Raphael had left, and all that was left as evidence was the magnificent mask Chouet held in her trembling hands.

**Note from Author: **And so concludes my first POTO fan fiction. I hope all of you enjoyed it! PLEASE review this! Thank you to all of you who read this, and to those who reviewed. Also, thanks to my voice teacher for finding the opera _Griselda_. Perhaps, if I feel like it, I shall post up a tenth chapter simply as my own feelings on this fan fiction, since I have many strong connections with this.

Look out for my next fan Phantom of the Opera fan fiction: "A Ballerina's Story"


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